Another Day
by trollololololol
Summary: Another School. Another Universe. Why does everything have to come crashing down all at once. Suggestions greatly appreciated! Rated for language.


**AU, _really_ AU  
**

**Katniss/Peeta**

**Gale/Johanna**

**Maysilee/Haymitch  
**

**Sorry if you don't like the pairings.**

**The Hunger games belong to Suzanne Collins. If it were me, I would butcher it to oblivion.  
**

My alarm clock started to ring annoyingly. I rolled onto my side, expecting to see the illuminated numbers of 6:30 blaring in my face, but instead I saw the time as 7:45. Shit. It's the first day of school, it starts in fifteen minutes, and I'm already getting off on the wrong side of the bed. I'm not even sitting up yet.

It takes a little while for my situation to fully dawn on me and before I can do anything else, I grab the pillow under me and start screaming in it. I live in a dorm with a roommate! Why did she not wake me up! Well, you know what, Johanna, FUCK YOU. I _know _I set my alarm clock right. Why must you tamper with it?

I tried to get ready as quickly as I could, but it was a bit hard, seeing that my room was in a state of total chaos from whatever Johanna had done while I was asleep. I spend at least five minutes searching for my backpack under the piles of magazines, clothes, and more clothes. Why do two people need so many clothes? I hastily search for my necessities, hoping against hope that I might make it in time, but it's no use. By the time I'm sprinting out the door, it's already 8:05.

Shit. I don't even know where my classes are. Shit. Shit. Shit. As soon as I find Johanna, I'm going to strangle her. Or stab her through the eye. Or maybe make a nice sandwich for her out of her own stomach. But then, how would she be able to eat it? Don't think about that right now! Find your class! You remember hearing Madge squeal about having homeroom together, but _where is that_.

Search your brain, damnit! You know this! I decide to run into a random classroom, stupidly wishing that it's the class I'm supposed to be in, but I'm wrong. It's full of little kids and I just stand there, staring out into space stupidly until I hear my sister, who happens to be in the class I run into, furiously whisper that I'm in the class across the hall, on the right. Oh Prim, what would I do without you.

I casually stroll across the hall, trying to lower my heart rate so that I'm not panting and fighting for breath as I walk into class. But it takes me a little while to catch my breath, so I stand there like a dumbass and sounding like one as I attempt to fill my lungs. To my surprise, the door suddenly opens and I'm staring into the face of the person who is responsible for my being late. I immediately lose my shit and start screaming in her face. Even I can't make sense of what I'm currently saying to her.

"Calm down, fire girl," she says, obviously amused by my crazed state. "I just came to look for you. And before you start screaming like a baboon again, you had woken up when the alarm went off and started messing up our room like a madman. And then you went to sleep again." I don't believe her. Of course. She sounds about as truthful as slug.

"Anyways, we have Haymitch as our teacher again. You don't have to worry about oversleeping for the rest of the year. Our class is already partying at the fact that they wouldn't have to learn the history of Panem over again." She says this with sincerity and I can hear the whoops of joy form inside, so I decide to trust her in this.

When I see the classroom, it is chaos, chaos, and more chaos. Haymitch is strewn across the front podium, drunk and asleep. I occasionally hear him mutter something in his sleep about someone named 'Maysilee,' but I ignore it. Around the classroom, there are paper airplanes flying, spit balls being thrown at the white board with deadly accuracy, and, of course, the vandalism. No out of control class would be complete without the vandalism. The dull history books had their pages torn out and had notes written on them. The whiteboard was filled with random garble and gossip from over the summer. I try to concentrate on what has happened to everyone over the summer, but I honestly can't bring myself to give a damn.

The noise. It's unbearable. It's like listening to a stadium before the show or game starts. Occasionally, I hear my name in the mess and I instinctively turn my head to the source, but it takes me a while to pinpoint the origin.

I see the main group in the center of the room. They all appear to be surrounding a blond boy who I vaguely recognize. He's furiously blushing and attempting to hide his face, but his friends seem to keep taunting him with no signs of stopping. I kind of feel bad for him. Once I see him reach his head out like a turtle, I finally remember who he is.

How could I forget the boy with the bread.

A couple years ago, soon after my father died of a heart attack, my mother was spending our welfare money drinking away her sorrows. Just like Haymitch. Prim and I were starving without that money. I tried my best to keep us looking orderly and fine, but the people around us knew what was going on. Every day, I would get up early to wash Prim and my clothes and dry them in time for school. I was able to enroll in the nationwide boarding school, but I couldn't bear to leave Prim starving with our drunk mother.

I tried my best. I really did. But the scraps of change that were left over from my mother's alcohol shopping were sparse and not enough to survive on. Each week, Prim and I got a little skinnier, a little more like a walking bag of bones. I could hear the people talking behind our backs about how horrible our family life was.

I couldn't stand it. We were about to starve to death, and all people did was gossip behind our backs about it! I went to the market to try to beg for food. It was disgusting, begging like that, but I needed food desperately. Prim was lying at home, sick from starvation, and I would soon be like her.

It was pouring rain, and any spare piece of clothing that I had once had was sold for food. It was there in the market that I saw him. He was staring at me in pity. At least, I think it was pity. In his hands were two magnificent loaves of bread that were being shielded from the rain. I could see the steam emitting from the bread. I wanted it so badly, but a child to beg another child? I was not low enough that I would even do that.

His mother screamed at him to not linger near the street rats and tried to pull him away. From her harsh tugging, he tripped and the two loaves fell onto the ground. His mother started screaming at him that they were now ruined and unfit for the family to eat. In a fit of rage, she marched back to the baker's to buy new loaves. While she was gone, he scampered over to me and handed me the loaves. He avoided my gaze while he explained to me in a quiet voice that the loaves were fine and he tried his best to keep it from getting as dirty as possible. When he looked up to see my reaction, he immediately blushed and ran to his mother.

That night, I came home and gave my mother a sharp slap. I told her to get herself together and not to let her daughters starve to death as she isolates herself with alcohol. I fed Prim a slice of bread and gave her some water to drink, hoping that she could get better from these meager attempts. But, I could feel her forehead temperature rising and her coughing grew worse. My mother walked to the cabinet in a haze and pulled out some sort of combination of medicine that I was sure would not work. At first, I was hesitant and did not want her to pretend to be some sort of doctor in her drunken state, but I remembered that she had once spent her days healing people when our father was still alive. It was a good thing that I trusted her, because Prim was able to get better almost immediately.

The next day, I wanted to thank the boy, but I learned that that night was his last night in this city and he would be going to the boarding school from now on. I didn't even get to thank him.

I later learned that his name was Peeta Mellark, but to me, he will always be the boy with the bread.

His sky blue eyes are mesmerizing. I could stare into them all day and I would never get bored. He was so frazzled that I thought he was simply adorable. Like watching a small cat play with a ball of yarn, but nothing like that fuzz ball, Buttercup. Damn that _rat_. I can't even call it a cat. It's too hateful.

His friends kept pointing at me and saying my name. I wonder what they are talking about.

Oh well. I decide that I've had enough chaos and ear splitting noise for one day and try to leave, but someone blocks my way.

I look up, pissed at whoever is stopping me from leaving this godforsaken place and see that it's Gale. The heart throb. The pretty boy. The boy every girl wishes was her boyfriend. Well, except for me.

He nonchalantly blocks the exit by leaning one arm against the wall and looks down on me with what I assume most girls think is a 'sexy, smoldering gaze.' I only see the condescension. But I guess he is somewhat attractive in someone else's eyes. He's just not my cup of tea.

"So, Catnip," he says with a grin. I already hate him for calling me this new nickname. It's less that the nickname itself is bad, more that the way he says it just grates on my nerves. "Do you feel like going on a date with me?"

I can feel Johanna's sadness. She's liked Gale for quite a while. I'm about to reject him as nonchalantly as he asked me when he starts to try to force himself onto me.

**I'll try to update as soon as possible.**


End file.
